Take a rest, please
by Zora Arian
Summary: He must not play a wrong note. He cannot afford to play a wrong note. Teen!lock; one-shot. Dedicated to orangesherbert06 and MissMoustachio!


We all have our stressful days once in a while, and the two people I know are having such days now. This is for them, so that they would, uhh, 'relax' a little by reading a story...? O.O This is for **orangesherbert06** and** MissMoustachio**, whom I both love so much, and may your days be a little less, uh, stressful in the days to come . You can do it! :DDD

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes and its characters; they belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and BBC.

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Running down the school's long corridor, Molly frantically searched in every classroom she came across, and came out with the frustrating answer of 'no he's not there'. God, where can he be?! She was about to lose her mind, what with her not having seen him in any of her classes with him that day and everyone asking and prodding at her with the constant question of 'Where's that boy(friend) of yours?'. It was about to turn 6pm and the school gates would definitely be locked by 7.30 at the most; somehow, she knew he was in the school somewhere. The question was where.

Ascending the flight of stairs as fast as she could, she was about to take a right turn when soft violin music made her perk her ears. She turned to her left instead and followed the sound, running down the hallway and stopping right in front of the music room located at the end of said hallway. Turning the knob, she pushed the door open with her weight as she rushed in, approaching the figure standing in the middle of the spacious room; the sweet sounds the dark-haired teen coaxed out of the violin did not escape her as she marvelled once again at his musical abilities. When she got closer to him and saw the intense frown he was wearing as he played, however, she knew he needed to stop right then.

"Sherlock, you need to stop..."

He ignored her plea, taking to continue gliding the bow with an already tired arm across his violin.

"Sherlock," Molly called to him once more, grabbing a fistful of his shirt at the hem and pulling at it, "you need to rest..."

"Shut up, shut up, shut up," Sherlock chanted softly under his breath in reply, immediately snapping his eyes shut as the notes of the music piece he was playing flashed in front of his mind's eye. He must not play a wrong note. He cannot afford to play a wrong note.

The girl looked up at the older boy in slight fear, knowing what would happen if he ever worked himself too hard again; it would not do him or her any good if he were to faint in the school's music room. She pulled at his shirt once more; the movement elicited a piercing high note from the violin and Sherlock stopped playing for a moment to open his eyes and shout at the shorter girl.

"Can you not see that your presence is distracting me?! Go away!"

"Sherlock, you have to-"

"**You** have to go away! I am busy **practicing**, in case your simple mind cannot comprehend such an activity, and I don't need you to mess things up as it already is so just go!"

Molly bit her bottom lip to stop herself from arguing back. He's stressed up, she reminded herself. A second later, she heard him play from the beginning the violin piece he was practicing, and it was then she knew he really needed to take a break. She opened her mouth to ask him, once more, to stop and take a rest.

"I need to do this, Molly."

Starting a little at the sudden whisper, Molly looked up to his face. His playing had gotten softer, with the melodious sound of the violin eventually coming to a standstill as he dropped the hand holding on to the bow to his side, with the violin still propped beneath his chin, and continued to talk, his eyes closed. "I cannot...no, this must be perfect."

"Sherlock, it's getting late; I'm sure you've practiced enou-"

"I need to get this perfect. This piece - every note must be in tune, every bar in tempo; time wasted is time lost, and I need all the time I can get to perfect this piece.

I cannot afford to disappoint Father again."

Letting go of her death grip on the teen's shirt, Molly let her hands fall to the front of her lap, her eyes roving about his facial features. Although just 2 years her senior, Sherlock was more mature than any of the kids she knew in school, and she had a feeling it was because he went through even more than what she or the others would ever have.

Silence befell between them, Sherlock with his eyes still shut and Molly looking more than a little remorseful. The latter then spoke up in a quiet voice, "You play wonderfully. The piece, I mean." She swallowed and pressed on, wanting him to know what she mean to say, "You're amazing at playing the violin – have always been."

Slowly opening his eyes, the 18-year-old directed his gaze down to his companion. She took in a deep breath through her nose and gave him a small smile. He stared at her for a long while, his blue eyes slowly and seemingly turning green as he kept his eyes on her, before nodding and dislodging the violin from underneath his chin, dropping that hand to his side as well. He then sighed out in exhaustion as the last few hours that he cooped himself in this music room playing the piece over and over again were making itself known; his arms began to ache and his legs were starting to wobble from having to carry his weight without respite for he had decided not to sit down as he played, treating it as a punishment he bestowed upon himself for not being on tempo the last time.

Sensing he was about to collapse there and then, Molly immediately grabbed his arm and led him to the nearest chair, seating him down and prying the violin and bow off his hands; setting the two items down on the chair beside him, she turned to see him staring at her. "I'll just run down to grab my bag and, uh, get you some water, okay?" she told him timidly.

Sherlock nodded, still not taking his eyes off of her; Molly felt a hot flush up her neck (and of all times it had to be now) under the intensity of his gaze and ducked her head. She mumbled something about being back in a second and turned around to walk out the door. As she rested a hand on the knob, a soft deep rumble came from somewhere behind her.

"Thank you. For thinking that my playing was...decent."

She looked over her shoulder and watched as the male teenager flexed his overworked violinist fingers, his attention no longer on her. She smiled and shook her head, telling him, "It was more than 'decent', Sherlock, and you know that. I know that too, so it wasn't a thought anyway."

Finally exiting the music room, Molly once again ran down the hallway, only this time it was to retrieve her bag from her classroom. Sherlock allowed himself to slump on the chair as he waited for his...friend to return; he also allowed the gentle smile that had unconsciously appeared after what she had said to stay on his face for a second or two longer.


End file.
